


Tales from the Six-Region Sea

by JackBivouac



Series: A World of Pocket Dragons [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, Bondage, Dogs, F/F, Fish, Forced Incest, Forced Orgasm, Furry, Humiliation, Impregnation, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Magic School, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Other, Outdoor Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Pigs, Public Humiliation, Rabbits, Rape, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackBivouac/pseuds/JackBivouac
Summary: Oneshots with D&D monsters as Pokemon, set in various regions in the same homebrew world as the region of Iridol from Dungeon Trainers
Series: A World of Pocket Dragons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612936
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. From the Dust of Edolia

Io knew nothing of their region's history, not even their region's name, only that they had been born into a wasteland irrevocably twisted and devastated by death and magic. Which was part of the reason why their tribe, the Last Tribe, had left them bound in sacrifice to the corrupted monsters with whom they shared this blighted land.

They were on their hands and knees. Ropes of braided plant and animal fibers to four strong wooden stakes hammered into the ground. The ropes were so short that they couldn't sit upright. Already, their neck ached from bowing.

The Last tribesfolk had stripped their small but curved and hardy body of all clothing. As the sun climbed steadily higher, a sheen of sweat had broken across their brown-skinned back. Their shorn, brown hair offered no protection from its searing rays to the back of their aching neck.

Crack! A long-dead twig snapped behind them. Io swallowed hard, their hands balling to fists in the dusty red earth. Gritting their teeth, they looked back over their shoulder.

A crocodilian skull stared eyelessly back at them. Out from the brush lumbered an esobok, devourer of ghosts. The three-hundred-pound predator stood three feet tall at the shoulder, his dark, sleek-scaled body just as wide. A ruff of black feathers wreathed his neck and followed the line of his spine all the way atop his reptilian tail.

"Niiice monster. Goood monster. You know, there are plenty of plenty of tasty undead around," a blatant lie, as most were nocturnal, "...why not go find one of them?"

Unexpectedly, the esobok actually did stop. The strangest sound escaped his skull, a strangled half-growl, half-whine.

Because what Io couldn't see from their current position, was the massive, knotted cock between the esobok's hind legs. It was engorged with feral, breeding heat. But due to the region's ecological devastation, few of his kind remained.

What Io saw was their future killer and consumer. What the esobok saw was a fellow stranded being offering themself under equally urgent heat. The monster advanced upon his oasis of relief.

The esobok heaved his mass upon them, mounting the human. Io screamed in instinctual panic. Their cry choked off into a gasping sputter as the monster shoved his huge, burning cock up their fear-clenched asshole, ripping their walls apart.

Io squawked and strained against the binding ropes, hands and feet clawing the ground in desperate escape. The esobok’s heavy forepaws shoved their shoulders, face and tits into the dirt. Holding down their human bitch, he slammed his dick into their guts, his massive knot pounding against their asshole.

Tears burst from the sacrifice’s wide-opened eyes, each ream of the monster’s raping cock slamming jerks and spasms into their helplessly crushed and pinioned body. With a vicious, brutal grunt and thrust, the esobok forced his oversized knot up the tight squeeze of the human’s tiny anal shaft.

Io squealed inhumanly through their nostrils. Their flesh near-immobilized between the unyielding ground and the monster’s three-hundred-pound muscular bulk, wracked into electric convulsion, every treacherous fiber of muscle clenching and wrapping around the esobok’s knotted cock. Io was totally, utterly subjugated.

With a triumphant, dominating roar, the monster pistoned his dick into the broken, begging flesh of his knotted bitch. They shrieked, senselessly cumbrained under him, their overstuffed anal shaft clamping even tighter around his cock.

Seed exploded from the esobok’s dick into his shuddering, trembling, screaming bitch. The first of many loads. Knotted as they were, he forced the human to take every one of his bestial, breeding bursts until they were nothing but a panting, drooling heap of spasms under him.

So utterly lost was Io to the climaxes that the monster and his brutal, jizz-pumping cock and knot forced into their anus that they could no longer understand when he finally pulled his released dick from their hole. They knew only that he suddenly shunted their still-cumming flesh into a deeper tranquility than any they had ever felt before. The human had no idea that the monster continued to move around them, his crocodilian teeth snapping through their bonds in thanks.

The two slumped against the warm earth. They breathed in ragged tandem. As Io’s consciousness slowly trickled back, their eyes met the empty sockets of the esobok’s skull. They opened their mouth as though to speak.

A psychic pressure exploded across the wasteland, crushing human and monster into the dust. All sound was sucked from their ears like the final breath torn from the dead. Every pore of their bodies was speared through with such maddening terror that their flesh transformed into an inescapable leaden cage for their soundless screams.

Though they no longer had the wits to comprehend it, this was the aura of absolute terror of a legendary.

The monster was humanoid in size and shape if utterly alien in bearing. His or their blue-black flesh stretched across a skeletal frame. Huge, black horns bent and curled upward from his gold-haloed head. Golden plates armored his upper half. His lower half vanished into a dress of animate black rags levitating above the earth.

As he drifted across the barrens, crushing all beneath the psychic weight of his aura, his eyes, hollow pits aglow with blood-red light, met those of Io and the esobok. A single corner of the legendary’s mouth curved upward in the ghost of a lipless grin.

Snap! Like rubbery tendons stretched to their limit, the human and monster’s minds...broke. The severed ends of their psyches flailing as wild as worshipping hands to their passing god. Time ceased to have meaning.

Then the legendary vanished. Breath and sound surged back into the world. Io and the esobok’s whipping psyches snapped earthward once more. In their haste, they entwined, binding the minds of human and monster in a psychic bond as old and as strong as time itself.

Trainer and monster staggered onto their feet, their bodies clothed in a coat of red dust. They turned to meet the other face to skull.

“I have to go after my tribe,” said Io. “I have to tell them what happened.”

The esobok nodded. He understood their urgency if not the meaning of their every word. And he was coming with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Members of the Last Tribe don't know it, but as implied by the title, their region, across the sea and south of Iridol, is called Edolia


	2. A Trainer Made in Sargos

Along the southeastern coast of the Six-Region Sea stretched the cliffs and sandy beaches of the region of Sargos. The seaside twilight bathed the scrubgrass and cockleshell cottage walls of the little fishing village of Nautilus. A window opened, its squeak concealed by the sea’s incoming surf. Out climbed a young man with deep olive skin and a head of curly, sandy blond hair.

Chimaeron slipped through the gap, bare feet landing lightly in the ever-present grit. He snuck out from his childhood home toward the ten-foot-tall coquina wall surrounding the town. Warnings were carved into the stone markers all around the walls: “It’s not safe to go into the tall grass without a monster!”

But this was the eve of his eighteenth birthday, legends dammit. He would scale these walls and prove himself a man. So what if his village was too provincial for a trainer program. He wasn’t afraid of no monster.

In the grassy dunes just above the shore, moonlight reflected off a patch of rustling blades. Chimaeron gulped. There was only one thing that could be. He wasn’t scared. He’d sworn to himself that he couldn’t be scared.

Thump! Thump! Thump! As he approached, he caught the thump of bodies and a husky grunting. Not one monster but two. If they were busy, distracted by their bestial heat, surely they wouldn’t stop to attack a passing human.

Chimaeron’s hands parted the grass before him like a swimmer’s parting water. Not two monsters but one...and a human woman, the long brown waves of her hair strewn in tangles on the sand.

Her strengthless body laid limp, perhaps unconscious, under the giant, five-foot-long wolpertinger mounting her from behind. The oversized hare was sleek-furred with a crown of antlers upon their head and sharp, cutting teeth. A pair of bat-like wings flapped from their back as their forepaws held the woman down by the shoulders for their girthy dick to penetrate her helpless asshole.

The chimeric beast snorted and grunted as they jackhammered into their impaled bitch, reaming up into her g-spot. Even an unconscious body couldn’t ignore the oversized dick slamming her in the raw, nervous depths of her anal cavity. Her trapped flesh jerked and shuddered under the raping hare, the walls of her anus seizing down around their cock of their own, cumbrained volition.

The monster’s debased bitch wrang their cock for seed with their spasming flesh. The raping wolpertinger complied with a leporine squeal. Seed exploded from their swollen cock. They pounded their cum toilet’s ass into the sand even harder, pumping her full of every last drop.

An unnaturally angular shape caught in the corner of his eye. It was a briefcase, partially open. Through the crack, he spotted three distinctly round, red and white shapes.

There was no time to think. Chimaeron dashed to the briefcase. He flung it open and grabbed the nearest pokeball.

“Get away from the human!” he shouted at the monster.

They didn’t listen, not that he’d expected them to. That’s what the monster he unleashed was for. The pokeball opened with a hiss and burst of light.

Layers of translucent, shimmering fins flowed down a humanoid, six-foot-tall body. The aquatic monster’s smooth-scaled, bluish-green skin gleamed under a fine layer of slime. Tentacles curled from her jaw to her shoulders. Her webbed hands and feet ended in short but sharp claws.

Chimaeron had never seen a monster of her likeness before, but somehow the name of her kind flowed into his mind.

“Agathion bishop! Scratch!”

Her opalescent eyes met his. Her lipless mouth curled into a mischievous smile. She darted forward through the grass, claws crossing in anticipation in front of her chest.

The wolpertinger’s hare-like head jerked upward at sand-flinging crunch of her steps. The bishop was on them before they could disengage themself from the woman’s flesh beneath them.

The wolpertinger squealed in pain as the bishop fell upon them with vicious, tearing blows. Their blood ran black in the moonlit darkness. Though they bit and struck at the bishop with tooth and antler, the aquatic monster was far faster, turning each strike to glide off her slick skin.

With a dangerous, triumphant smile, her claws ripped through the wolpertinger’s throat. The oversized hare slumped powerlessly atop their victim, wings twitching weakly. The bishop threw her enemy off the human, flinging their wretched form back through the curtains of tall seagrass. All that remained of the monster was their bestial seed oozing out from the woman’s ass onto her thighs, pussy, and skirt.

Chimaeron stepped into the clearing alongside his monstrous ally. He nodded at the bishop. “Uh, thanks.”

Then crouched by the woman. Though he didn’t catch it, the aquatic monster crouched as well. His attention was wholly enrapt by the large brown eyes that fluttered open.

“H-hi,” he croaked, all moisture suddenly evaporated from his throat. “I’m Chimaeron, and you’re safe now.”

He offered her a slightly sweaty, trembling hand. She blinked at it, her senses slowly returning, then took it. The young man helped her up to standing. 

Not yet fully grown, she was a few inches taller than himself. She straightened the hem of her skirt and the sides of her white, open lab coat.

“You…,” her eyes, shining in the moonlight, flicked from Chimaeron to the bishop and back, “...you’re a trainer?”

The boy felt himself shrinking even smaller. “Not technically, no, sorry. I didn’t mean to use your monster. I…”

“No! No, you saved me. Don’t be sorry.” She shook her head. “It’s incredible, really. Most trainers take years to learn how to forge a psychic combat bond with a monster. Your potential...if you’re not a trainer, you really should be. Please, keep the agathion bishop. She’s yours. Give her a name, if you like.”

“Oh! Oh, I…” He looked from the woman to the monster.

The bishop placed a hand on her cocked, generously curved hip. Her head tilted to the side, that mischievous smile of hers returning to her mouth. Somehow, Chimaeron knew as true as he knew his own thoughts that the aquatic monster wanted him to name her. Dared him to.

“You are...Ichthicca.”

She rolled her head from one side to the other, mulling and tasting the name in her mind. She stopped. Ichthicca winked her opalescent eye. In a flash of light and pixels, she returned to pokeball in the young man’s hand.

“It’s good to meet you, Chimaeron and Ichthicca,” said the woman. “My name’s Professor Asphodel. I’m a field researcher for the national monster department.”

“What brings you to Nautilus?” asked the newly initiated trainer, nearly bouncing with excitement. Without a proper trainer’s belt, his trembling hands fumbled his first pokeball and monster into his pocket.

“I was actually on my way to deliver these monsters as starters to the trainer school in Helios, but I couldn’t resist taking a gander at the monsters along this coastline.” Her eyes lit up in thought, stealing the breath from Chimaeron’s lungs. “Hey! Why don’t you come with me? I could pay you to be my escort and when we get to the city, you could test out your skills at the gym.”

“Th-that s-sounds really great,” he croaked, “but I’m not a trainer.”

Professor Asphodel placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy’s electric-shocked body went as rigid as a corpse, though if he were to die, it would be of delight. The woman smiled, as beautiful as she was disheveled.

“Why don’t we let your new monster be the judge of that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The region of Sargos lies east of Edolia and was completely spared its devastation by choosing not to go to war with the far-west region of ancient Thespia, the (currently) long-lost land of magic and apricorns


	3. A Thespian Education

At the far western edge of the Six-Region Sea where its bays opened to the open ocean, an endless maelstrom the size of a continent had formed where ancient Thespia once stood, leaving the sea surrounded by five regions. None could breech the storm walls of the Mouth of Mare. Which was exactly why the people of Thespia had erected the maelstrom using magicks of man and monster.

Unlike other regions, every living being in Thespia had access to magic. The reason was a highly guarded secret, the very secret that prompted ancient Thespia to isolate itself from the rest of the world. There was a plant endemic to the region, the apricorn tree, whose every forest belonged to a single, central root system. The showers of its pollen infiltrated the breath and waters of every creature in Thespia...and connected them.

So it was that every being born in the region had the magic seed of the apricorn planted within them. To develop the tree’s gift to its fullest potential, however, one had to adhere to a program of study like those offered at a magic academy. Like most academies, the House of Cliffs and Brine accepted only those students who could afford its extravagant fees or bore sign of exceptional potential.

It stood upon the craggy heights of the coast, an ancient stone lighthouse carved in the shape of a towering woman with arms outstretched to sea and sky and the great light shining from her brow. From every part of her body sprouted the stone carvings of Thespian monsters in attack. Hers was a promise of savagery, for such was the truth and price of power.

In the marble lobby at her feet, this year’s crop of eighteen-year-old entrants stood against or sat in benches along the walls awaiting their assignation to one of four suits. Those who drew pentacles belonged to the highest ranking and most powerful suit, a kind of academic nobility with all the resources and benefits that implied. Next in line were the cups, notorious for partying and other decadent extravagances. After them came the wands, the average and majority of students. 

The lowest and rarest of suits were the swords, a symbol not wielded but suffered. Any student unlucky enough to draw a sword was immediately demoted to the status of slave. Their suit was at the beck and call of any who entered within the academy walls, student and faculty alike.

Deseka, as the daughter of Thespia’s eighth and most powerful gym leader, had no fear of drawing such a dire card. The bronze-skinned girl laid out across all three seats of a bench, killing monsters on her phone. Her dark brown hair, styled in a long princess cut, fanned out on the cushions beneath her.

“...seka. Deseka. DESEKA.”

Ah, the secretary was finally calling her name. 

The girl paused the game and slipped her phone into the pocket of her sleek, fitted suit pants. She rose, straightening her suit vest as her heels clicked sharply toward the headmaster’s office. She didn’t bother to unroll her shirtsleeves nor don her suit jacket, instead carrying it carelessly over one slender shoulder.

“Very good, Deseka. The headmaster wi…”

The girl walked straight into the office before the secretary could finish. She kicked the door closed behind her and dropped into the chair facing the headmaster’s desk, one knee crossing over the other. She beckoned at them with a ringed middle finger.

“Let’s get this over with. The cards, mate. Spread ‘em.”

Headmaster Zakynen’s storm gray eyes narrowed over their steepled fingers. Even sitting, the middle-aged magus cut a powerful, grizzled figure. Their steel gray hair was cut close to the scalp, their button-up shirt doing little to hide the brown-skinned muscles beneath. When they spoke, their voice was as low and rumbling as a thundercloud.

“As you wish.”

The headmaster set a careworn deck of cards on the desk. In a swift, single motion, they spread the cards in a sweeping arc before the gym leader’s daughter.

Deseka plucked the nearest, the card at the arc’s peak. Her body went rigid. Purest, coldest hatred blazed from her every pore. Her voice was as soft and cutting as the sword in her hand.

“What. The fuck. Is this?”

Headmaster Zakynen took the card from her hand. “That would be the Nine of Swords, sometimes called the ‘Lord of Cruelty.’”

Deseka snapped to her feet, slamming both palms onto the desk. “Pokeshit! Do you have any idea who my father is? How much money he’s fucking lavished upon your stupidly pretentious House?”

“All of Thespia knows your father,” said the headmaster dryly. “You’ll have to send him my thanks when this is all over.”

“I’ll send it right now,” she hissed, pulling out her phone.

A thick, strong hand closed around her wrist. Deseka gasped in shock, utterly uncomprehending as Zakynen’s painful grip forced her to drop the phone. They smashed it underfoot.

“You don’t seem to understand the full meaning of your suit, little slave. Allow me to educate you.”

They twisted her arm behind her back. Deseka screamed, a sound cut off as Zakynen slammed her chest against the desk. Her head smacked the wood, stars bursting in her eyes.

"Bind."

The table itself sprouted strong, pliable straps of wood. Two straps seized and wrapped tight around her thighs, pulling her cunt against the edge of the table as they spread her legs. A third strap caught her around neck, keeping her bent and pressed against the surface. A final strap lashed her bent forearms together, her hands flopping uselessly under either elbow.

"No! No! You can't do this t-chfff!" 

The thick strap around her throat squeezed tight. Deseka choked and sputtered.

"Don't you get it? Anyone can do this to you now, little slave." Zakynen drew a pocketknife and cut the seat off her designer pants. "Little slut."

They cut through the sheer, flimsy barrier of her panties, exposing the perfectly rounded curves of her ass and the tightly clenched lips of her virgin slit. Zakynen unbuckled their belt. They gave the slave girl's helpless slit a cursory lick. She jumped and squirmed on their tongue, huffing breathlessly.

The headmaster laughed. They stuck in a finger, their dick hardening as they watched her uselessly struggle and writhe against their restraints to escape their prodding. The stupid slut succeeded only in digging the desk's hard edge into her own cunt. Her pussy lips flushed and swelled, wetting the headmaster's finger with shamefully pleasured slick.

"The cards don't lie." Zakynen stuck their wetted finger in Deseka's panting mouth, forcing her to suck it clean. "See? You were made to be a slave, you filthy little whore."

They gave her worthless mouth a second finger to suck and set the hard, burning head of their cock against her pussy lips. The virgin slut practically sucked them in.

Zakynen groaned and thrust, ripping apart their captive's tight, unbroken walls. Deseka gagged on their fingers, her eyes bulging in a brand new torment unlike any she'd known in her soft, blessed life.

The headmaster pistoned into her jerking, clenching flesh. The harder she struggled and squirmed against them, the harder and deeper their merciless dick pounded her virgin pussy into the desk.

It was too much for the spoiled slut. Spittle burst from her lips onto the headmaster's gagging fingers as her back arched her bound body against them. Her hips bucked of their own, shameful volition into her rapist's, begging like those of a mounted bitch.

Zakynen grunted and smirked. They dug their fingers into the broken slave's hips and asscheeks and fucked her until her virgin pussy clenched as lewd and tight as a common whore's around their cock. 

Spasm after spasm ripped through Deseka's bound, quivering flesh. She drooled onto her master's fingers and hand, squealing pig-like through her nose. Her eyes rolled to the back of her skull.

The headmaster groaned and came into the girl's virgin pussy. Their dick pumped her helpless womb full to the last drop with their seed, impregnating the cumbrained slut.

When they were finished, Zakynen released their binding. Thunk! Deseka dropped to the floor of their office in a strengthless, panting heap.

"B-b-bastard," she rasped, tears running down her stickied cheeks.

"You think this is over?" They tossed back their head with a mirthless laugh. "You poor, stupid slut."

Zakynen opened the drawer of their desk, retrieving a leather collar carved with arcane sigils. Deseka pushed at the floorboards, struggling to crawl away. 

The headmaster grabbed her by the hair, dragging her painfully onto her knees. Snap! The collar locked around her neck, trapping the gym leader's daughter in slavery as sure as a monster in a pokeball.

"Welcome to the House."


	4. Planting a Seed in Xanados

Northeast of Sargosian Coast was Xanados, eastmost region around the Six-Region Sea. It was an open secret within the region that nothing transpired without the approval or outright involvement of Team Glory, its most powerful crime syndicate. But the rural village of Woody Acres was small enough that the owner of Longleaf Ranch figured that the big bad mob wouldn’t bother with his subsistence farming operation.

Technically, Shau and his child belonged to the monster breeder trainer gang. They certainly kept up the appearance with their denim overalls, orange-collared shirts, and straw hats. But Pa Shau was a gentle sort. He’d deliberately taken a post for him and his child out in the middle of woodland boondocks to avoid battling passing trainers and concentrate on his true passion, berry farming.

There was no place Pa Shau was happier than out in the dirt, sun, and shade of his berry orchard. His trusted leaf leshy would agree. The wee monster was a three-foot humanoid plant with wing-like leaves on her back and a roly-poly, pinecone belly. While he tilled fresh, black earth with his hoe, the leaf leshy waddled after him, planting berry seeds.

Pa Shau whistled a happy tune to match the steady rhythm they had going. He looked back. The tune died on his lips. The leshy had stopped, her twig shortspear pointing at the berry trees up on the hill.

Upri, his other pride and joy, should have been gathering berries with the help her or their own little monster. Instead, the child who’d grown into a true farm belle, was racing down the hill. Her three-foot tall stone kuribu whizzed after her on his or their cherubic wings, their round-cheeked face crumpled in worry.

“Pa! Pa!” shouted Upri, waving their hat. Their blonde-dyed braids bounced as wild as their eyes. They pointed a dirt-smeared finger back at the crest of the hill.

Four figures stood above in sweeping coats and matching uniforms of black and red. Despite the sweltering heat of the noon day sun, Pa Shau’s blood ran ice-cold in his veins. Team Glory had come to call.

“Get behind me, Upri,” said the burly breeder, his voice booming with hollow confidence.

The young belle did as her pa commanded, gripping her straw hat in both hands. Her breath shortened as the mobsters drew near and stopped a mere ten paces away. Pa’s leshy and her kuribu stepped defensively between them and Team Glory.

Upri’s eyes dropped to their red belts. Though they only had one monster each, it’d been years since Pa’s last fight. She’d never been in one herself. Nor had she ever seen the kind of red and black pokeballs they carried before.

“How can I help you folks?” asked Pa Shau, his gruff tone anything but helpful.

“The name’s Jakil, Team Glory baron,” said the leader. They cut a tall, lean figure in the mob’s slick uniform. Their hair was shaved on the sides with a thick black wave on top. Their polished black boots were reminiscent of riding boots. “And I’ve come to collect your dues.”

Pa Shau’s face paled over his blond-dyed beard. “I-I don’t have the money. Please, I just need a month. Then I’ll get you the dues, I swear it!”

Baron Jakil’s scarred mouth split into a smile both amused and patronizing. “I believe you. We’ll return in a month to collect. But first, we’re going to need some collateral.”

The baron and their three grunts tossed up their uniquely colored balls. Indeed, these were not pokeballs but Team Glory’s latest technological achievement, the fuse ball.

Rather than sending out the grunts’ dire boars or the baron’s archon hound, the fuse balls caused the trainers’ bodies to pixelate. The grunts’ reformed bigger, bulkier, and covered in bristly fur, their heads transformed into the tusked shapes of their dire boars.

Baron Jakil’s body grew taller, more muscular and predatory as well. Their head changed to that of a black-and-tan-furred hound's with a smile of long, viciously sharp fangs. 

Team Glory twitched their new, bestial ears. It was the only warning before their pouncing attack. Thud! The breeders and their monsters hit the ground with pained grunts, pinned under the grunts’ bristly furred hands and Shau under the baron’s clawed paws.

Fighting was useless. Father and child cried out as the boar-headed grunts slammed their fists into their psychically linked monsters until the leshy and kuribu were little but huddled heaps of glitching flesh. The strength likewise drained from the breeders.

Shau and Upri were helpless as babes as the grunts stripped them naked. They were rolled onto their stomachs in the dirt, their arms wrenched behind their backs. The grunts used slender black zip-ties to bind their arms together at the wrists and elbows. A third tie bound their legs together at the ankles.

“Now, let’s have that collateral,” said hound-headed baron, their transformed voice a deep, rumbling growl.

Jakil pulled up Shau’s hips, forcing him onto his face, chest, and knees in the soil. A grunt did the same to his child, the belle’s eyes welling with tears of fear.

The two other grunts grabbed a monster each. They thrust their bestial boar cocks into the leshy and kuribu’s anuses. The small, glitching monsters screamed in squirmed between their hands to no avail. The grunts mercilessly jammed their oversized dicks harder and faster all the way to the base of the leshy and kuribu’s tiny anal shafts.

Pa Shau huffed and grit his teeth against the agony as he suffered the same brutal plowing up his own virgin asshole. His child hadn’t the strength for such stoicism.

Upri screamed with her stone monster at each ass-splitting thrust. Her cries and writhing only caused the grunt behind her to stiffen faster. 

The boar dug her fingers into the soft flesh of the belle’s hips and asscheeks and shoved her new cock up Upri’s virgin asshole. Their shrieks strangled off as they choked from the shock after violent shock that the grunt impaled into the tight squeeze of their anus.

“Upri!” grunted Shau, struggling to rise.

Baron Jakil crushed him back down with a stomp on his neck. “Better worry about yourself, old man.”

The hound thrust their burning dick up Shau’s psychically violated shaft. The breeder hissed in an agony he’d never known before as the baron’s cock tore his walls apart, their massive knot battering the pain-clenched mouth of his asshole. His entire body shuddered with the force of the hound’s brutal assault. 

Fwip! The breeder’s straining asshole tore. With a mighty shove, the baron forced their knot through Shau’s clenched mouth and into his virgin anus.

Pa Shau roared in pain. The hound’s knotted dick slammed into their worthless bitch’s g-spot. The breeder’s spine clenched. He wracked in convulsion from his rawed, raped asshole up his spine to the crown of his skull on the baron’s brutal knot.

Baron Jakil grunted and groaned. Cum exploded from their cock into their knotted bitch’s tight, virgin anus.

Shau spasmed uncontrollably. Against his will, his dick stiffened in the tilled earth.

The hound-headed baron grinned from their mount atop their convulsing cumdump. “It seems the farmer’s ready to plant his seed.”

The boar-headed grunt fucking his child grinned back. Without removing her cock from the belle’s sweet, tight anus, she rolled onto her back, baring their belly and luscious if dirt-smeared tits.

With their enhanced strength, Baron Jakil carried the bound breeder on their knot. They let him down atop his own precious child.

“No! Bastard! Don’t-arghhh!”

The hound forced Pa Shau’s forced-erect cock into Belle Upri’s virgin pussy. The young adult cried and writhed under her own father. With her anus stuffed with the boar’s dick, her squirming only wettened and tightened her pussy’s incestuous grip around her father’s dick.

“Upri! Upri, stop! Stop, or I’ll…!”

His cries fell on deafened ears. Stuffed and churned in both holes, the belle’s helpless shafts clamped down around both cocks. Her cumbrained back arched, lances of pleasure spearing her from depths of her violated pussy and anus all the way to her scalp. Upri spasmed in uncontrollable orgasm, squeezing and wringing the dicks raping her shafts.

Pa Shau shut his eyes to shut out the unimaginable pleasure on his dick. He could not. Seed exploded from his cock into his child’s virgin pussy and from the boar’s dick into their anus. The sandwiched Upri continued to shudder and cum, their lewd shafts milking both father and bestial stranger for every last drop.

None of the members of Team Glory pulled out until they’d forced their human and monster victims to take the full measure of their seed. Only then did they allow the leshy and kuribu to return to their breeder’s balls.

The hound-headed baron grabbed the father and child, still impaled on his dick, by the throat. He teleported the bound, naked pair to the very public doorstep of the village’s pokecenter. Woody Acres was small but not small enough that they could escape the humiliation of being spotted.

Screams pierced the air. Upri sobbed. Even Pa Shau couldn’t stop the leak of his shamed and outraged tears.

Baron Jakil merely laughed, pixelating back to their human form. “Now, now. Dry those tears and enjoy your family while you still can. See you in a month.”


End file.
